Storyteller
by Maya Koppori
Summary: Written for FantasiaWandering's birthday, and based on her Children of the Forest. Thank you for a whole year of wonder and turtle goodness!


She moved silently through the underlying brush, careful not to let her cloak catch on twigs and burs. The golden leaves underfoot were nearly indistinguishable from one another with the dappled light streaming through the forest giants overhead. Autumn was approaching, and the modest garment was her best defense against the biting winds to come. Moreover, the wandering path of her travels would lead her through much less friendly places, and she was not guaranteed welcome to local shops.

Not everyone was kind to the storytellers, it seemed. The woman's fingers tightened around the edges of her cloak as she recalled past villages- distrustful, secluded places unused to strangers. And strange did the people find them, those storytellers. Clothed in shadow and the language of mind, they could arrive one day and vanish the next without a word. Their paths would cross occasionally, and they would share their tales with one another. But for the majority of their travels, the storytellers walked alone.

The thought made the woman's heart constrict painfully. For every fearful glance and drawn shutter, there was a kind smile and an open seat at someone's dinner table. She shook her head. This was no time to lose herself to such things. The allure of adventure and the thrill of meeting new people were a good part of what had made her decision to put forth her craft as she had. And as she often reminded herself, once she met a true friend they would never really be apart.

Still...

She blinked back tears as her ears picked up the babbling of the stream she was destined for. Changing direction slightly, her feet met lusher foliage as she neared the source of the water.

She quickly knelt and drew some of the clear water to her lips. This area of the forest was pristine, untouched. Few people ventured this far in. There were stories that the place beyond the waterfall that fed the stream was haunted by ghosts and monsters.

As she raised her cupped hands a second time to splash her own face, the storyteller paused. Her silvery and wavering reflection stared back at her, but beyond her were blurred movements in the shadows of the tree branches.

A smile that she could not tamp down stretched across her face. She quickly washed her face, patting her cheeks dry. When she turned her eyes skyward, the forms were no longer visible. But the storyteller knew better than to believe them absent. Instead, she sat on a large rock near the stream's edge and closed her eyes, waiting.

The leaves around her whispered in a rush of wind, nearly masking the burbling of the stream in their urgency. But in the spaces between the sounds of the wind, there was another to be heard- chiming laughter and the flitting of light feet across rough bark and smooth rock. The storyteller's smile softened, and she opened her eyes.

Four children crouched before her, watching her with ecstatic smiles. They were the same age as some village boys she had passed on her way- perhaps ten years old. They were not, however, children like those in the village to the south, nor those in the north and east and west. Their earthy green skin and hardened shells were criss-crossed with braided belts, and the only unnatural color about them was the colored band that each wore over his eyes. Far from being the demons that drove people from the woods, these were four little kappa, an extraordinarily shy race of creature.

They were the dearest friends the storyteller had met in her travels.

"Hello, my little ones."

"Storyteller!" they replied, capering up to her to offer their hugs and greetings. The woman smiled at the four of them, accepting each of them and placing kisses on their brows.

"How are you today, young friends?" she asked softly, watching them as they broke off to play with one another. They were almost too swift for her eyes to follow their tussling.

The eldest stayed near her, tugging absently at the tails of his blue mask. "We are well, Storyteller," he answered politely. "Father taught us a new skill the day before last." He looked up at her eagerly. "Would you like to see?"

"Of course, Leonardo," she smiled, and chuckled at the pride that escaped his eyes. "What is this new skill?"

"Count to three, Storyteller!" squealed the one in orange. The youngest, Michelangelo found no wrong in his actions as he somersaulted over his brother's head to land inches from the hem of the storyteller's cloak. "Count to three and we'll show you!"

"Okay." She made eye contact with each of the boys. Donatello and Raphael, though farther away and silent, we're watching her intently. "One."

They didn't react.

"Two."

Michelangelo squirmed in excitement but stilled himself with determined focus, waiting earnestly for her call.

"Three!"

Suddenly, the children had vanished. The storyteller gasped, looking around wildly. She hadn't even seen them move! Where had they gone?

"Gotcha." A poke came from her back and she yelped, vaulting to her feet. she turned to find Raphael, looking at her in mild surprise as he sheathed his wooden weapon. The others were behind him, looking equally shocked.

Donatello stepped forward, looking up at her anxiously. "Storyteller? Did we... Scare you?"

She shook her head quickly but the hand clutched over her heart betrayed her.

"I'm sorry," Michelangelo sniffed. Tears pooled in the bright blue of his eyes. "Are you afraid of us now? Are you going to leave?"

"Oh, no no no," she shushed, opening her arms. The young one threw himself into them, and she lifted him with a grunt. He was getting taller, she noted with a twinge of... Regret? Longing? "I love you, my sweet one," she whispered, and then looked to all of them. "I love all of you. But there is something I must tell you."

Michelangelo's three fingered hands found her face and turned her to face him. He looked into her eyes, and the storyteller let him read in them what she was going to say.

He blinked at her quizzically, and she nodded. He pulled back his hands as if burned. "You're leaving us, Storyteller?"

"What?" the others chorused, drawing closer. "He's wrong, isn't he Storyteller?" Raphael asked. "You're not really leaving?"

The storyteller sighed, and nodded as she allowed Michelangelo to work his way out of her embrace. "I have stayed for too long, little ones. Far too long." She looked west, into the path the sun would take upon eventide. "I came today to say goodbye."

"But-" Leonardo clamped down his words before they escaped and glared tearfully at the ground. "But Storyteller..."

His unspoken plea broke her heart. The woman knelt and took his hand, inviting him to sit. "Would you like to hear a story?"

The magic words. Through the sadness and fear, the boys' natural curiosity drew them close to her. They sat at her feet, giving her their undivided attention.

The storyteller breathed evenly through her nose. She straightened her body, pulled her shoulders back, and called upon the air in her lungs to speak in a strong voice.

"There was once a storyteller from a faraway land."

"!"

"Yes, little one. I am the storyteller."

Michelangelo nodded gravely and bade her to continue.

"This storyteller was not always what she is today." Her eyes glazed, fixed on a time the young kappa would never know. "Not everyone in her family believed that she would survive in the guild. They would quarrel, and it hurt the storyteller to be told that her stories would not be liked by others.

"And so she set out on her own. She had help from many friends who she met along the way. But whenever she was tempted to stay in one place, she knew that it was time for her to move on. It wouldn't do for a storyteller to continue her craft without the travels necessary to building her experiences.

"So she traveled across the lands until she heard tell of a forest, haunted by fearsome demons. She knew that there must be some truth hidden in the incredible whispers of the villagers, and she went out to find that truth for herself."

Her throat constricted, feeling raw. The boys were already smiling, waiting for their grand entrance into this story. "The storyteller was attacked in the woods by bandits, dastardly men and women using the legend of the forest to conceal themselves from discovery. The storyteller feared that she would be killed, or made a slave."

A growl from Raphael and a low whimper from Michelangelo. Donatello glared at the moss on the ground. Leonardo held her gaze.

"But before the bandits could do more than scare her, they were strung from the trees by their waists. Five heroes had descended from the shadows and saved the storyteller. They were not human- one was a great rodent master of martial arts, and the other four were his brave and extraordinary turtle sons."

"That's us!"

"Shhhhhh!" The other three glared at Michelangelo and he cringed. No one was to interrupt Storyteller. No one.

"Yes, little one." The storyteller smiled, assuring him that he was forgiven. "The family welcomed her into their home, and although their father was wary, he put his strict ways aside and allowed the six of them to become great friends."

The boys snickered.

The storyteller hesitated. How would she explain?

"Weeks passed," she said finally. "The storyteller came to love the children as if they were her own. On lonely nights, it was the memory of their laughter that kept her company." She took a sharp breath. "And it was when she realized this that the storyteller decided that it was time for her to move on."

She dropped her shoulders, bowing her chin to her chest. She had told her story the only way she knew- truthfully.

It was Donatello who spoke first. "When are you leaving?"

"Right now."

"Does father know?" This time from Leonardo.

"Yes. When we last spoke, I informed him of my intentions and asked him to allow me to be the one to tell you." The storyteller stood, brushing stray leaves from her clothes. She automatically reached for the pouch at her waist that held her coin. It was all she took with her on her journeys. It was really time for her to continue her journey. Assured, she pulled her cloak around her once more.

"... We could take you as far as the tree line," Leonardo offered.

She smiled. "I would like that very much."

They walked mostly in silence through the trees. The boys flitted in and out of her line of sight, but they always returned to her side to brush against her hand or play with her hair before disappearing again. Just to reassure her that they were with her.

All too soon, the trees began to thin out. The boys had less opportunities for cover, and the dusty road ahead was nearly visible. The storyteller stopped walking and felt the four shadows lingering nearby.

"Storyteller," Michelangelo began. "Thank you. You're the only human that- The only one who..." He faltered, the tears streaming freely down his face now.

"Michelangelo..." The storyteller cupped his little face in her hands, thumbing away his tears. "Be strong, my little dear one. I am always with you."

"But what if we don't see you again?" Raphael asked softly. "Something might happen to you while you're away."

His words evoked a fresh wave of tears from each of the boys. They didn't know what they would do without their storyteller's friendship.

"No, my strong one," the storyteller promised. "If something happens, I will rush right back here. I will not be very far- maybe ten days walking time." She caressed his cheek. "Will you wait for my return, Raphael?" she asked teasingly.

He nodded, intensely serious. "Every day, Storyteller."

"Storyteller?" The voice came from above her, and Donatello dropped from the trees. What a clever boy- she hadn't even noticed him ascending. "Look at what I found." He extended his hand and offered her a small green object. "Butterflies come out of these. Will you be back when the butterflies hatch?"

"I don't think so." The storyteller took the green crystal from him and held it to the light. The hardened shell was nearly translucent, and the pattern of the wings could be seen pressed against it. "But perhaps the next turning of the seasons, when the butterflies have almost woken up, I will return."

"That long?" Donatello despaired.

"It's okay, Donnie," Michelangelo said. His tears were gone, put away through sheer will. "Storyteller said she won't really be gone."

"That's right." She smiled warmly into Donatello's dark brown eyes. They swam with the flow of his thoughts, and she could see all of his worries and wants reflected in them. "I will return soon, my bright one. I promise."

"Yes, Storyteller." He backed away, joining his brothers. Waving, they receded into the shadows of the forest. The storyteller watched them go, a frown forming on her face. She counted again. One, two, three...

"Storyteller?" She jumped when Leonardo's voice came from her side. He was still, staring at the ground.

"Yes?"

"I will miss you." Leonardo took her hand and clasped it tightly. "Please return as soon as you can."

"Of course I will." She squeezed his hand back. "Will you take care of your family for me, my brave one? So that one day I may tell others of your tale?"

"Yes, Storyteller." He released her hand and pressed it instead to his curled fist, bowing. "Please be safe in your travels." He cooked his legs and leaped, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Count to three, Storyteller."

She did so, and again when she reached the call number, the boy vanished. And then she turned, leaving the ghosts of their play in the trees behind her, and walked Into her timeless life. But she knew that no matter where her travels took her, or how many years it took, she would always be drawn back to the one thing she treasured more than her words and her breath and her stories.

Her family.


End file.
